Rowena {a founders story}

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rowena had been very quiet. Since the students had gone home for the summer, and Godric had taken Alva away, she had spent her days either outside, walking round and round the lake, or in her chambers, endlessly preparing for the next year, reworking, going over applications for new teachers. The few she liked were in a careful pile, the rejects discarded.

It was an evening like many other: she had bade Helga and Salazar goodnight early, retreating to her chambers where the windows were all throw open to let the pleasant June evening air drift in, over her bare shoulders, hair swept up into a twisting mess. She had been ignoring the invitation on her desk for days, which her fellow founders had already replied to – the wedding of Godric and Alva, the invitation a pale blue, small, bewitched white ink flowers blooming in the corners. Rowena hated how pretty it was.

She was dressed down for the evening, wearing a light blue set of robes that freed her shoulders and fluttered about her. She had kicked off her fine slippers to prop her feet up on the window seat she lounged on, several books spread across the fine cushions – her attention span was short these days, she had to move between several. This is how Rodbern found her.

"I see you are working very hard." He stood in the centre of the room, hand gripping a fine cane so his knuckles went white.

"I am." She shut her book with a loud snap, but did not move to stand.

Rodbern inspected his daughter's chambers, the books and fine but modest furnishing, the flourishing plants taken care of lovingly by Helga. "So your little school failed."

"No Father, my school did not – only my heart." The vulnerable statement slipped out, and she flushed.

"The Gryffindor son left you then. For a Mudblood." Disgust twisted his lips around the word, and he turned to his daughter, watching flashes of his wife long dead. Maida had once worn a dress in the same colour, it had been one of his favourites.

"Alva is lovely, I hardly blame him." She clenched her jaw, swallowed her anger. "She will make a perfect wife, a lovely bride."

"As will you – no Witch should be running a school." Rodbern's gaze could not settle on his daughter, and shifted from her dress to the shelves of books to the scene out the window beyond her. "A summer wedding then. July or August – both are possible. At the Slytherin Castle, of course."

Rowena stood swiftly, causing Rodbern to remember quite suddenly how tall she was. "Neither, Father. I will not marry Salazar, I will dedicate my life to my school – and you are never welcome."

Taking a step back, Rodbern opened his mouth – shocked, he couldn't speak.

"Did you not hear me? You are not welcome."

A still life – father and daughter, never speak, stand in frosty silence. Rowena did not feel like a daughter, and Rodbern had never particularly felt like a father.

Rodbern shut his mouth, fingers wrapping around his cane. "Very well." He took a last look at her, his daughter – standing tall and furious before him. He looked as of he may say something else, but he left, leaving his heavy silence to weigh on her.

Yet, even in the wake of her father's silence, Rowena felt free.

         Rowena felt oddly as if she had been here before, with her state echoing that of long ago now – standing at the end of the lane of the Hufflepuff house, watching the wedding of Helga's brother unfold. But this time Godric would not appear behind her, lead her gently into the party, into a dance. Take her home at the end of the evening and brush a curl back from her face. Because it was Godric's wedding, and not to Rowena.

The past was the past, she told herself. Godric was her colleague, and more importantly her friend – whether he had broken her heart was another matter, but not one for today. She smoothed the bodice of her dress, velvet in a deep honey colour, and took a deep breath. She descended the same hill she had years ago now to the hollow Gryffindor castle rested in; she could see that already Alva had had an impact, with the gardens seeming tidier and not falling over the walkways. The windows were clear of ivy, and there were lights within. The front doors were thrown open, and a dotting old house elf showed Rowena through the castle to the conservatory, where everyone was taking their seats.

Helga and Salazar waved Rowena over, and she sat between them, letting them discretely take her hands. Helga looked lovely in a blushing pink gown, and Salazar dashing in a dove grey set of silk robes. The conservatory, with its walls of shadowy glass turning the outside gardens into a blurred but beautiful painting, slowly filled with guests. Soon music swelled, and Godric stood before them all in a set of brilliant gold robes. He was beaming, and his eyes filled with tears as Alva appeared at the end of the aisle. Rowena could not convince herself to turn to look, but she was not surprised that Alva looked beautiful once she came into view; her stomach ballooned beneath a set of white gold robes, her hair intricately plaited and woven, some curls tumbling down her back.

Rowena could only wonder what she would have worn on her wedding day with Godric, where in the castle it would have occurred. Not pale gold, surely.

The afternoon haze lit the atrium from all sides, and the happy couple looked like they had walked out of a painting – Rowena swallowed her tears as Godric began to speak.

"Alva Davidson Gallaher, I receive you as mine, so that you become my wife, and I your husband."

A blushing, radiant Alva repeated the declaration; "Godric Gryffindor, I receive you as mine, so that you become my husband, and I your wife."

And, as was custom when two magical beings declared their bond, ribbons of gold light wove around their entwined hands, shining as Godric stooped to cup Alva's face. Rowena gripped her friends' hands so hard she left red marks. Neither Salazar nor Helga said anything, just let her squeeze, and pretended not to see agony on her face. Not soft, or warm like Alva's. So little of Rowena was like Alva.

The guests dispersed for an early supper, and then dancing in the dusk. The doors of the ballroom were open to the fragrant gardens and the heavy night air, the music trickling out to settle among the roses. Rowena had drank a cup of mead for nearly every hour she had had to watch Godric with his new bride, and she had long abandoned the party. The rose gardens, which she had seen bloom for several years now, and she found a spot Godric had shown her the first summer she had ever been at the hollow. A small corner of the garden, where a stone bench sat before a little pond, reflecting pink from the faeries darting through the blooms.

Salazar found her, slippers abandoned and hair falling out of its intricate up-do. She had taken off her sleeves, and her bare arms were pale, tense as she gripped the edges of the bench. Her head was bowed, shoulders hunched as tears dripped onto her velvet gown.

"Rough night?" Salazar settled beside her, and she let out a heaving sob. He wrapped his arms around her, and she collapsed into his chest.

She tried to speak through her sobs, anger rising through her sorrow: "I was never interested in love, I was content with my books – and then Godric damn it all Gryffindor comes along and wrecks everything!"

"I know..." soothed Salazar. He hated to see her in such pain, but he thought of the locket, sitting in his desk, and how he knew he would heal her, make her happy.

"I was fine –" she cried, gripping his robes, "I was fine without him –"

Amongst their friends, in their home raised from the grave of grief, Godric and Alva danced, unknowing to Rowena in the rose garden, alone once again. 

A/N: everything is going wrong! Poor Rowena. I wonder what will come with the new school year...